


but I had to try

by londer



Category: Dimension 20, Fantasy High
Genre: 1920s AU, Aged up characters, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern, Arranged Marriage/Marriage of Convenience, Bootlegging AU, Era typical misogyny, F/F, F/M, Gen, Jazz Club AU, Mafia AU, Multi, Now completed!, Setting typical Violence, implied/referenced domestic abuse (marked at top of that chapter), inspired by some really good art by haruspeks on tumblr, speakeasy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24615184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/londer/pseuds/londer
Summary: The dining room of The Compass Points is awash in dim gold light that soaks into red velvet seats, gleams off of fine cutlery and white china. Everyone here is someone important, and all their eyes are trained on Fig, dinners and companions forgotten in the spell of her voice. Fig sways under the attention, cups the microphone as she croons an old standard.//1920s nyc bootlegger AU [completed]
Relationships: Adaine Abernant/Fabian Aramais Seacaster, Figueroth Faeth/Ayda Aguefort, Kristen Applebees/Tracker O'Shaughnessey, Zelda Donovan/Gorgug Thistlespring
Comments: 53
Kudos: 102





	1. fig

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AHappyPup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHappyPup/gifts).



> I saw [this art by haruspeks](https://haruspeks.tumblr.com/post/619336061591699456/leyendecker-study-u-can-choose-if-this-is-from-a) and went Hm Okay Yeah!! Lets Do This  
> Not related to my other 1920s AU.  
> Spoilers for season two of FH!  
> For AHappyPup, for being so sweet.  
> The whole thing's written, will update every few days.

The dining room of _The Compass Points_ is awash in dim gold light that soaks into red velvet seats, gleams off of fine cutlery and white china. Everyone here is someone important, and all their eyes are trained on Fig, dinners and companions forgotten in the spell of her voice. Fig sways under the attention, cups the microphone as she croons an old standard. Her dress is gorgeous, slinky red silk that sets off her dark hair and dark lashes. She knows everyone in the room wants her, but between smouldering at the patrons who shelled out for the seats closest to her stage her gaze continuously flits away to the maitre d’, who stands tall at her station by the door. 

Ayda’s new but has already proved her worth in a scrap when the most recent shipment came in. Fig had dressed her split lip and tried not to let her fingers linger over her skin, resisted the urge to smooth her golden-red hair back from where it had fallen in her eyes during the fight. Ayda’s kind of magnetic, charming in her clumsy handling of social graces. She makes Fig laugh during staff meetings with her dry comments on the rest of the staff’s bullshit, and always wishes her a _good night, Miss Faeth_. 

Fig finishes her set, curtsies to the applause, and slinks backstage past the velvet curtains. The band strikes up a quiet background jam, and she can hear the clatter of forks and knives against plates start up again. Fabian’s waiting for her in her dressing room, looking sharp in a black suit, tie undone and white hair slicked neatly back. “You sounded good out there,” he says, slides off the counter he was sitting on and out of the halo of the bulbs around the mirror behind him. He hands her a thick envelope of cash, which she idly thumbs over to check the amount. “I’ll see you later tonight?” 

“Of course, _Mr. Seacaster_ ,” she says, presses a kiss to his cheek, presses close to him. Fabian is warm and smells like cigarette smoke and the salty grime of the docks - he must have paid Gorgug a visit earlier today. He slides his hands down her back, holds her waist in one hand and toys with the ends of her hair with the other. If anyone walked in on them now they’d think they caught a private moment between the club owner and his star. It's plenty of cover for a conversation most of the staff shouldn’t be party to. “Riz called. The shipment’s here early and he needs to make the drop." 

"Fuck," Fabian says, tucks his face into Fig's neck. She can feel his eyelashes against her skin. "He can't go to the Elmville apartment, Kristen confirmed the commissioner's office got a tip this morning. Have Riz go straight to the ship and get Gorgug to meet him on the docks for a midnight drop." 

"Can't you coordinate with him?" Fig asks sulkily, runs her hands over his biceps. "You know it looks bad when I'm seen at the docks."

"Can't," Fabian says. "I’m bringing Adaine Abernant tonight, you know, Angwyn’s youngest? I think he wants to make a match, tie the families together, get a monopoly going.” 

“Jesus,” Fig says, winding her arms around his neck. “You think that’s smart?” 

“Abernant controls the skid road out of the Carolinas - we want good whiskey and hooch, we keep him happy,” Fabian says. “I don’t know that I like what he’s pushing, but I’ll take the girl out for a few nights, see if I could turn her to me.”

“Is she pretty, at least?” Fig asks, and he pulls away from her shoulder with a snort but keeps their faces close.

“Unbelievably so. I'm the envy of every-”

The door pops open and Ayda yelps from the doorway. Fig snaps away from Fabian and then regrets it, knows how guilty it makes her look. Ayda’s eyes are dark and she looks so good in her white shirt and black vest, even standing there askance in the doorway, looking like she wants to run. 

“Ayda!” Fig says. “Is there-do you need something-what can I-?”

“Miss Faeth,” Ayda says, her voice a little broken and Fig weighs the consequences of killing Fabian right then and there. “I’ve interrupted. I’m...so sorry. There’s a customer who’d like to pay his compliments to you. Should I send him back here?” She doesn’t look at Fabian the whole time she talks, just keeps her eyes perfectly fixed on Fig's face. 

“No, I’ll go to him,” Fig says, gathering herself. “I’ll see you around, Seacaster.” She doesn’t look at Fabian as she leaves, takes Ayda by the arm and brings her with her. “Ayda - please don’t assume that we were, well, you know-”

“Was he harassing you?” Ayda stops short, holds Fig’s upper arms in her warm hands so she can look at her and Fig really wishes that Ayda was holding her under different circumstances. “He might be the owner, but that is unacceptable behavior and I will-” 

“No!” Fig says, a little too loud. Antiope passes them with a tray of desserts and they step aside to let her through. “No, never, Fabian would never. We were, well,-” She pauses. “You know that... _job_ you helped us with? Where you got hurt?” 

“The smu- oh. I see. We are being covert. Yes, the job. I recall. My lip hurt very badly and you did a very good job of patching me up afterwards.” 

Fig flushes, hopes it isn’t too obvious in the dim hallway. “Yes. The job. We were talking about a similar job. And not everyone here works for us at the _other job_ , so we needed to make it look like we were talking about something else.” 

“I see,” Ayda nods firmly. “You pretended to be paramours in order to deceive anyone who walked in on your discussion. Very effective, I was thoroughly confused.” 

“Thank you,” Fig says, trying not to fixate on how the word _paramours_ rolled out of Ayda’s mouth. “Would you - well, would you like to come tonight? To the job?” Ayda pauses. “Well, not to the job but to - to the gathering. Where we would celebrate the job. You would most likely not get punched there.” 

“Will you be there?” Ayda asks. Fig nods, heart fluttering. “Then I will go. I must go back to my post now. Mr. Cutter at table six is waiting for you.”


	2. riz

Special Agent William Gunner - _Riz Gukgak_ when undercover - refills his coffee in the breakroom before heading up to the commissioner's office. He nods to the commissioner's secretary - Kristen Applebees, by her nameplate. She's pretty in a soft way, red hair in a neatly curled ponytail, checkered blouse. Real goody-goody look about her. 

"Kristen, doll," he starts, and she fixes him with a look that could cut steel. Maybe not so goody-goody. "Uh, Miss Applebees. Is the commissioner in?" 

"No," she says, already turning back to her typewriter. 

He waits. She doesn't say anything else. "Um. When is he...getting back?" 

She looks at him like she just scraped him off her shoe. "An hour. You can wait, if you're not going to keep bothering me." 

So Will sits down in a terrible little wooden chair and waits. Kristen keeps typing away, takes a few calls, handles a few other people who drop in. He goes over his case file, the prep work for the next drop in a few day's time. Two years undercover, six months infiltrating the Seacaster empire. The Seacasters are mostly harmless: legit shipping empire with a side of bootlegging. They've got friends in dark places, though, and he's working his way towards their mob connections. His chest goes cold with hate as he flips through his notes on the Abernant family, newspaper clippings from the social pages, press releases from the city council, pages of notes on their associates and holdings. He thumbs over a small portrait of Angwyn, thinks about putting a bullet in the man who killed his father. Everyone who joins the mafia taskforce has their reasons, but nobody's got the drive to take down the mob like Will does.

Commissioner Aguefort gets back at three and brings Will right into his office with him. "Gunner; good to see you. We need to move up your next shipment to tonight. Bureau of Prohibition's found the Elmville apartment where you made your last drop, confirmed it was a leak from inside the Seacaster family. You need to look clean, stay in, keep working their Abernant connections."

"There's a party tonight," Will starts eagerly, but Aguefort cuts him off. 

"I know about the party. Use it to do the new drop. Get in touch with who you need to to set it up. Porter has your shipment ready in the usual spot for pickup. Stick around onboard if you can, we're not going to bust it tonight - I talked with the sergeant, they know we want this one to go off. Abernant's youngest might be there, so make nice, see if you learn anything new."

"Fuck," Will says, rubs his chin. This isn't going to be easy, but he's been sowing the right seeds for a while now. It should be do-able. "I mean, yes, sir. Absolutely." 

"Good. Dismissed." 

Two hours later, Riz meets with Fig (a stage name, he knows from his file that her real name is Emily, that she doesn't know who her father is, that she's been singing in clubs since she was sixteen) in her lushly decorated front parlor. She plies him with tea and cakes and he tells her that he needs to make the drop tonight, at the harbor. Her face tightens, but she agrees to pass it on to Fabian. 

Midnight, Riz is on the docks in New York Harbor, crate of straw and glass and hooch rattling behind him on a trolley. He meets Gorgug (two years undercover and he still doesn't know where some of these fucking names came from) beside the hull of the _Hallariel_. 

"Hey," Gorgug says, looking nervous and confused. The man is almost seven feet tall and Riz has never seen him not look nervous and confused."You got the stuff?" 

"Yeah," Riz slaps the lid of the crate. He didn't understand why the Seacasters had such a dopey guy on the payroll until he saw Gorgug dangle two men off the side of a building at once for information. Now he has a healthy respect for the big guy and tries to limit their interactions. "My fee?" 

Gorgug hands him a thick wad of cash, takes the trolley handle from Riz. "Need a hand?" Riz asks quickly, and immediately feels stupid about it. Thank God Gorgug's as thick as a brick.

"No, I got it. Do you want to stick around for the party?" Yes, obviously, so Riz follows him up the ramp into the hold of the ship and then up onto the deck where the party is just getting started. Gorgug must signal Seacaster, because they set sail as soon as the last cargo's on. Fig is singing on a bandstand, people are dancing and drinking and snorting who knows what. He sees a few faces from Wanted posters but doesn't stare, just saunters to the bar and orders a drink. 

He lies low for the night, just sits at the bar sipping his whiskey - god he missed whiskey, this is the only perk of being undercover for the mafia unit. He toasts to Fig when she makes eye contact with him from the bandstand, listens to the chatter of the crowd. Nobody's really talking shop, just cheering and laughing and spritely things. It's the twenties, the economy is booming, and they're cruising along the Hudson on a beautiful ship with beautiful people, all drunk off their asses. Idiots. Riz takes a few girls out for a spin on the dance floor, smiles and flirts casually. 

There's no harm any of it but also nothing gained until he finds himself back at the bar beside Seacaster's date, Adaine Abernant. She's beautiful in the lamplight, silvery hair in an elaborate twist full of feathers, blue silk dress loose and shimmering like water. She looks like her father, same long nose and high cheekbones and blonde hair. Riz simmers inside with hate, wonders if killing her would bring him closer to taking down her father. Probably not, so he decides to be polite and see what he can rustle out of her.

"Miss Abernant," Riz says, and she startles, eyes wide and luminous with tears. "Ah, shit," he fumbles for his handkerchief to offer to her. 

She accepts, dabs at her eyes gently. "Thank you. You are-?" Her voice is soft, nothing like her father's sneering growl, and her face is open and sweet. Just some silly pretty girl who probably doesn't even know her family controls half the city. 

"Riz," he says, stomach turning as it always does at the false name. "Riz Gukgak. I'm a...friend. Of Fabian Seacaster." 

"Ah," her eyebrows lift knowingly. "I see. How interesting. I assume you work in...procurement?"

"You could say that," Riz says, accepts his hanky back. A delicate slipup by her, it means she knows to be covert and she might know what Seacaster does. Maybe she knows more than she’s letting on. Maybe even something about her father. He presses on. "Is everything alright?" 

She huffs and rolls her eyes. "Yes. I’m just being silly. Sweet of you to ask, though."

"I hate to see a pretty lady cry," he says with a wink. She laughs delicately. "What brings you here tonight?"

"I'm here with Fa- with Mr. Seacaster," she says. No strong emotions there, no girlish delight at being on the arm on a rich handsome prince, but also no trepidation or disinterest. Odd. Maybe she is as dull as she looks.

"And how did you two meet?" He prompts. 

There's a glitter of something in her eyes that's quickly gone. "Oh, a family friend," she waves her hand airily. "You know how these things are." Except Riz doesn't know how these things are because a family friend to the Abernants can only be a mobster, and if the mob is planting Abernant's kid on the arm of Seacaster - well. Aguefort will want to hear about that.

He's about to reply when Seacaster slides in behind Riz and Riz's whole body goes stiff. "Stealing my date, Gukgak?" He asks, far too close to Riz's ear, a gust of gin on his breath. Riz start to say something, but Seacaster laughs loudly, smacks him on the back. "Tracker, get this man another drink. Adaine, would you do me the honor?" She nods, and he leads her back onto the dance floor as the barkeep slides another whiskey in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yknow going in i didn't quite think that Riz was gonna be this like morally grey to the point of nearly being an antagonist but....here we are


	3. kristen

Kristen Applebees is a damn good secretary, but being a secretary doesn't pay the bills, not in New York. She loves Tracker, but a Boston marriage only works if they're financially independent. So they spin up a fake dead husband and collect his navy pension from the Great War. They get caught, but it works out alright, because Gorgug doesn't turn them in to anyone but Fabian Seacaster. It turns out Fabian's interested in paying Kristen almost double the pension to sit at her desk outside the commissioner's office and pass on anything _interesting_ she might overhear. He also puts in a word with the shift manager of _The Compass Points_ to get Tracker waiting tables there and later tending bar at his private parties.

The Seacasters are mostly good people, mostly just a shipping conglomerate with some _side holdings_. They aren’t the mob and aren’t regularly threatening people, so Kristen doesn't feel too bad about doing a little dirty work for them. She listens in on a few meetings and makes a few modifications to some paperwork here and there. Nothing dangerous, and it keeps her and Tracker in their little apartment.

She clocks Riz the second he walks into the commissioner's lobby, recognizes him from the last drop. He wouldn't have seen her in the darkness of the club, but she recognizes his short stature and pageboy cap. She doesn't react to his presence, but when he's rude she toys with him a little bit. It's not exactly clear to her why he's here or why Fabian didn't warn her that he'd be coming in today. Maybe Fabian doesn't know that Kristen can identify Riz, or maybe it's just a longer game with the police force that she's not needed for. Fabian knows she's more useful to him behind her desk than behind bars for espionage.

Riz sits awkwardly in one of the waiting room chairs (deliberately the worst in the building to discourage visitors per the Commissioner's request) and starts rifling through a _case file_ \- oh. Oh _fuck_. Riz is _Agent Gunner from the mafia task force_ , Commissioner Aguefort's afternoon appointment. The Seacasters aren't the mob, but there's certainly enough going on under the table that this can only be a bad development. 

Fuck. Well, here’s the reason she’s on the payroll. She does what any respectable secretary-turned-informant would do and eavesdrops on their conversation. When he's gone she gets more coffee for the commissioner and then types up a coded note to Fabian about their mutual friend and the impending bust on the Elmville place. 

Tracker’s dressing for her dinner shift when Kristen bursts through the front door. “Gukgak’s a _fucking stiff_ ,” Kristen says in lieu of any greeting, dropping herself and her purse on their bed. 

“Hi baby, how was your day?” Tracker replies mildly as she buttons her shirt. “Mine was good, nothing exciting happened when I went to get groceries earlier.” 

Kristen sighs, sits up and kisses Tracker in apology. “Hi, honey. Missed you all day.”

“Missed you too,” Tracker says, smugly satisfied. She fastens her belt and grabs her jacket. “So Riz’s a dirty cop?”

“Nope, he’s a _dirty crook_ , working for the commissioner's mob busters,” Kristen digs out the note for Fabian. “Here’s the details for Seacaster, make sure he gets it tonight?”

Tracker whistles as she skims the paper. “Yeah, okay. Fuck.”

“Now?” Kristen flutters her eyelashes, tries to make her sprawl on the bed more appealing. “I mean, you have work soon, I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

Tracker scowls and she pins Kristen to the bed in a firm kiss. “Don’t tempt me, baby,” she says as she pulls away. “Come to the party tonight. Wear something hot and I’ll fuck you so good in some dark corner, _fuck_.”

Kristen’s stomach curls warmly. She's already got an outfit in mind. “I'll see you there.”

She dances with Gorgug until Tracker’s done with her shift at the bar. They’re both terrible but the band is swinging and something about Fig’s voice makes her inhibitions melt away and her limbs move like water. Or maybe that’s the liquor. She shimmies in the heat of the dance floor, lets Gorgug twirl her around. The black glass beads of her dress spiral out around her and clink softly against each other. 

"Goldenrod has a parole hearing soon," Gorgug says as they sway together in a waltz. He looks good in his coattails and slicked-back hair, and Kristen feels a momentary pang of pity for Zelda, at home with the kiddo. Safe, but probably bored out of her mind.

Kristen sees red and accidentally stomps on his toes. "Fuck. You need me to block the hearing?" 

"No," Gorgug says. His eyes are so black they nearly look red. His grip on her hand tightens reflexively. "Get him out. We've got unfinished business." 

"Did Fabian ask-"

"Fig." 

"Fuck," she says, tries to banish all thoughts of what he's implying. She carefully tries not to think about the death warrant she'll be signing. It's nothing Goldenrod doesn't have coming to him already, but still. "Okay. I can doctor his file, give him the best shot of being released. Parole boards are tricky, but it's still just his first offense. He can probably get out on good behavior." 

"Thank you," Gorgug says. "Don't spread this around." 

"I won't," she promises, and she'll keep that vow. Fig deserves this. She and Gorgug part and Kristen steals Fabian from his ( _gorgeous, wow_ ) date for a jive.

“Got your note,” Fabian says. “He’s here tonight, but no worries, nobody here is news.”

Fabian's playing some kind of game if he's allowing a cop in. “What about your new girl?” Kristen asks. 

“Adaine?”

It clicks where Kristen’s seen the girl before, because Adaine Abernant is all over the social pages and is also - “ _Angwyn Abernant's daughter?!”_

“Don’t make a fuss, Kristen,” Fabian says, looking nonplussed. “I’m playing nice is all." He dips her gently. "I need a favor.” 

“Oh?” 

“Ayda - the new maitre d’ at the _Points_ \- and Miss Faeth seem quite taken with one another. It might be useful if you and Tracker could, well, nudge that along.”

“ _Really?_ Why?” Kristen asks, trying to come up with an ulterior motive for the match. Nothing too political comes to mind, but Ayda does have a mysterious past, and Fig is always a little less reckless when she's in love. Fabian's not scummy enough to be setting this up just to hold over them.

“I like to see my friends happy,” Fabian says, feigning hurt. “Speaking of which, Gukgak’s a little too close to Adaine right now. Have a nice night, Applebees.”

Fig and Ayda end up only needing a gentle nudge. Kristen finds Ayda lurking on the edge of the crowd, tells her Fig asked to see her below decks after her next set. Tracker tells Fig that Ayda's upset and crying below decks. Kristen and Tracker make out in the hallway where Fig and Ayda are supposed to meet, hands up shirts and skirts hiked up. They can't see, but there's a matching pair of gasps and then feet hurrying away together into the nearest room. The two are still missing when Kristen and Tracker finally rejoin the party upstairs, so they keep a subtle guard on the door to the passage they’d been in before. 

“Leading by example,” Tracker says firmly, and Kristen presses herself into her side, smothers her laughter into Tracker's shoulder. Fig resurfaces nearly an hour later for her next set with smudged lipstick and wild hair. 

"Have fun?" Tracker asks Fig as she rushes by them. Fig stops cold, spins on them. Her face is caught somewhere between betrayal and gratitude. Kristen mimes wiping lipstick from the corner of her mouth and Fig blushes furiously and scrubs at the spot on her own face.

"I- well- _yes_ \- AH!" She sweeps away towards the stage still spluttering.

"You're welcome!" Kristen calls after her. "Ah, young love." 

Tracker makes a face. "We're young! And in love!" 

Kristen just laughs and pulls her out onto the dance floor as the band starts up again.


	4. gorgug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the one with the implied/referenced domestic abuse. **The paragraph in question is italicized in its entirety if that helps you skip it.** If you'd like more details before you decide whether to read, you can click down to the end notes for a (spoiler) description of what it entails.

Bill Seacaster hired James Thriker on the spot ten years ago when he was two days fresh in the city from his parent's farm upstate. He's worked the Seacaster's dock holdings ever since, manual labor to start and then trained under Harzon to take over the ledgers when the old man finally retired.

James knows he's more than muscle to the Seacasters, but the rest of the crew can think whatever they want. He keeps the books nice and tidy, and plays so dumb during city inspections that nobody's ever audited them. Anything that goes in or out of New York Harbor, he knows about. Anything special - shipments, people, problems, and combinations therein - he handles personally. He knows the Seacasters value him and his work. He held Fabian while he screamed and cried after the sight of his father murdered in his bed, helped him bring down the rival shipping corporation that paid for the hit and absorb all their holdings. Fabian in return introduced him to his wife, and James knows he secretly paid the deposit on their home.

He does up his tie in the doorway to the kitchen, watches Zelda bustle around with their son on her hip. She's beautiful in the morning light, brown hair tied messily under a kerchief and her skirt swishing around her as she moves. “I’ll be home tomorrow. Ship’s coming in late tonight and I want to handle it personally.”

Only partially a lie. She knows, in loose terms, what he does. It keeps her from asking too many questions or getting anxious that he might be stepping out on her. He knows she's safer if she truly can't answer any questions if anyone were to try and get to him through her, if she's never seen on the decks of the _Hallariel_ or at the _Points_. Work and home stay utterly separate, but he always regrets having to make appearances at Fabian's parties without her glittering on his arm.

She nods and hands him his sack lunch, kisses him sweetly goodbye. “Okay. Be safe. I’m going to Katya’s tonight to visit; in case you get back early and wonder where we went. ”

“Alright. I love you both.” He plants a kiss on his son’s head, ruffles the little guy's hair. Another reason to keep them away from the crew. He takes his usual circuitous route to the docks, hollers a hello to the boys on the ropes as he gets his lungs full of harbor air, thick with salt and metal and smoke.

Fabian's waiting for him in his office, sitting in the low light coming in from the paper treated windows. His face is stony, and he's toying with a pen from the cup on James's desk. "Ah, Gorgug," he says, stands when Gorgug walks in. "How's the family?" 

"Good," Gorgug drops his bag at his desk, flips through his inbox. "Zelda sends her best. What's up?" 

"I need you to go round the Abernants'," Fabian says, and Gorgug looks up in surprise. Fabian's mouth is twisted in distaste. "Their daughter-the younger one, Adaine, not the one married to the property broker-is my date to the club and then the party tonight. I want to be sure of what I'm walking into when I go to fetch her. Anything you can get on the girl as well would be useful." 

It's an odd request. Gorgug's not known for his stealth. "Why me?" he asks, because it's better to be blunt. 

There's a long moment. "Because I trust you," Fabian says finally. "And because every man who's ever spied on Adaine Abernant before has had the shit kicked out of him." 

"Fine," Gorgug says. It's not his place to ask what's going on that warrants an Abernant being wined and dined and let into a private party for the Seacaster crew. Besides, it'll be interesting to test a few of the Abernants' men on their own turf. "I'll need the morning down here, but I can go uptown this afternoon to scope the joint." 

Fabian raps his knuckles against the desk decisively. "Good man. I'll see you tonight." 

He coordinates with his men, clears up a few paperwork errors, and eats lunch with the boys on the deck of _The Hang Man_. Harzon taught him the importance of maintaining relationships with the shipmen, so he asks after their girls and kids and nights off. Ragh stops by with word of an upcoming surprise inspection by the city. Gorgug knows those ships are clean so he just passes word along to the captains to be sure not to do anything stupid in the meantime.

The Abernant estate is on the riverfront, a sprawling white building with Greek influences. He notes down the exits, the guards at the front gate, the unkempt men in dingy suits with revolvers poorly concealed on their hips. He doesn't see any of the family come outside, but he does clock two city councilmen, three Wall Street traders, and a handful of ladies from other New York elite families who arrive in a flurry of feathers and hats. There aren't any weak spots in the fence where he could get onto the grounds, especially not in broad daylight, so he writes up everything he can find on the outside of the manor. Fabian'll be able to get out if things go south, even if he has no warning on what his date's like. 

He's stopped by three men in pinstripes when he leaves the area who want to know _what his business is, buddy._ He deposits their unconscious bodies in an alley and continues on his merry way. Abernant's men are goons to be sure, but no real threat. He adds a postscript to his notes on the incursion.

He sends his notes to Seacaster Manor through Ragh, and goes back to the docks to see the last shipments unloaded and the final launches before the tides change. Then there's inventory to oversee, ledgers to complete, and it's payweek so he has to go through the rosters and sign checks with Jawbone.

It's late when he gets changed into his coattails for the to-do tonight. It's a surprise to find Fig knocking on his office door, looking as disgusted as ever to be at the docks in her fine shoes and frippery. 

"Faeth," he says, offers her a seat in his office which she declines. "What brings you down here?" 

"Riz is making the drop at midnight at the _Hallariel_ ," she's all business tonight. "Fabian wants you to handle it." 

"I thought that wasn't going off for another few days," Gorgug says, struggling to do up his cufflinks.

"Change in plans. Elmville is compromised," Fig says. She steps closer, takes his big hand in her little gloved ones, does his cuffs for him. "I'm just the messenger. Be there tonight or Fabian'll have both our heads." 

"Fine," he says. Bootlegging is a business where you learn to be flexible with deadlines. "Anything else?" 

Fig bites her lip, which means she's about to ask for something. "I need a favor." Gorgug just looks at her patiently. Fig hates asking people for things, so if she's coming to him, it must be important. "Goldenrod is up for parole soon. I just-"

_"_ Consider it handled," Gorgug says immediately, and Fig's whole body relaxes and her shoulders quiver.

_He knows why Fig ran away from home and started singing in clubs so young. Why her nose is just slightly bent from where it had been broken and badly set. He was there when Fabian hired her to be the Points’ headliner, when Fabian asked her if there was anyone who might be a threat. Fig had blanched and in stumbling words got out her stepfather's name. The night they finally got Fig's mother away from him, Gorgug's stomach had turned at the mottled bruising on her face, the way her whole body shook violently when anyone got near her. Fig had to spend too many long minutes convincing Sandra Lynn that this was real and not a setup designed by Goldenrod to hurt her further. She couldn't walk down the stairs herself from a twisted knee, and wept and recoiled as Gorgug picked her up as gently as possible to bring her down to the waiting car. Fig walked apace with him as they brought her out into the night, let her mother cling to her hand as she was bundled into the backseat and sent to a trusted doctor._

Gorgug's biggest regret is not wasting the slimy fuck that very night, but a neighbor had called the cops when they heard the crew break into the apartment and they'd had to leave. Goldenrod had been arrested the next morning for assaulting the man who lived above him when he returned to find Sandra Lynn missing. Gorgug had watched from the deli across the street as he was carted off, and sat in the back of the courtroom when he was put away for his pathetic three year sentence. Two years in prison wasn't enough, but if he's getting out soon, he can finally be handled. "Kristen will pass on the details and I'll do it myself." 

"Good," Fig says, and her eyes glitter hawklike in the low light of the gas lamp in Gorgug's office corner. "Make sure it looks like an accident. The divorce was hard enough to get through, Sandra Lynn doesn't need another court battle."

"Of course," Gorgug says, already thinking about empty elevator shafts, the construction uptown, the small ship he knows is slated to be scuttled soon. Sandra Lynn's building a good life for herself, is rebuilding her relationship with her daughter. He can take this pain away for her, so he will. It's not often that he has to handle this messy side of the business, but he'll make an exception for Goldenrod. "Anything for you, Faeth." 

She smiles grimly and straightens his tie before pulling him into a tight hug. "Don't forget to meet Riz. I'll see you on board tonight." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The domestic abuse in this chapter entails Goldenrod/hoard as Fig’s physically abusive stepfather who hurt both her and Sandra Lynn. It’s only one paragraph of text and none of the violence it is explicitly described in an active tense, but other characters do see the aftermath of the abuse.


	5. fabian

Fabian Aramais Seacaster is a reputable young man building on his father's empire. It's 1925, Prohibition is in full swing, and when he sees a demand, he creates a supply. Nothing comes in or out on his ships, but he's carefully cultivated a little network of procurers to keep his friends (and some enemies) well-liquored. If he has to step on a few toes to get what he wants, so be it. 

Angwyn Abernant is a weak-jawed man who holds court in his home like a rooster. How such a craven lizard of a man built one of the biggest empires in New York is really beyond Fabian. The man has his fat fingers in every pot in the city - the council, the cops, Wall street, even some of the unions. Fabian can almost see money signs glowing in his brilliant blue eyes when the man looks at him. Angwyn controls a good portion the smuggling in the city already, but to have a shipping mogul for a son-in-law? It had hardly been a surprise when the man had cornered him at a gallery opening the previous evening, talking up his youngest daughter. Fabian was in no position to say no publicly, and besides, Adaine Abernant was well known in the social circles of the young and fabulously wealth. It'll be good to be seen with her on his arm.

Fabian's no fool, though, and had Ragh do some reconnaissance for him on the girl. There's now a file in the top drawer of his desk at Seacaster Manor full of newspaper clippings about the remaining Miss Abernant. The social section adores writing about a quiet pretty thing being flaunted on the arms of all the most well-connected bachelors in New York. Angwyn's clearly shopping her around for a match, and Fabian's the next target. He sends Gorgug to scout the estate to be sure there were no traps being laid and to test their security. Fabian's not one for surprises.

Seven-thirty. Fabian stands quietly in the marble foyer of the Abernant estate, calmly aware of the two goons stationed by the door. He was perfectly punctual, brought huge bouquets for both Adaine and her mother, the latter of whom accepted hers with quite a fuss. Angwyn seemed pleased, and is now standing beside him yammering away about baseball while they wait for Adaine to make her grand entrance down the sweeping staircase. 

When she does descend, Fabian can't help but be a little awestruck. He'd seen pictures, of course, but in person is even better. She looks ethereal, like a forest sylph or a princess in a story. Her blue silk dress hangs delicately on her frame and her silvery hair is twisted into a feathered clip. She smiles at him softly as she alights at the bottom of the stairs. He's just able to gather himself enough to note that she's nearly his height as he steps forward to offer her the flowers he brought. 

"For you," he says, hears his voice come out roughly. Angwyn makes a smug noise behind him. Adaine takes them, sniffs a rose delicately. 

"They're lovely, thank you," her voice is like water. Fabian has to dig his nails into his palm to remind himself that no matter how lovely she might appear, this is a wolf cub, a finely molded dagger, a poison berry tart. She hands them off to a waiting servant. "Shall we?" He offers her his arm and they turn towards the door, where Angwyn is standing. 

"Show her a good time, Seacaster," Angwyn says, offering them a mocking little half-bow. "But not too good, you hear me?" 

"I wouldn't dream of it," Fabian says seriously, and then they're out of the house. He helps Adaine into the car and just catches a whiff of her sweet perfume off her hair before ducking in himself and nodding to his driver. 

"Mr. Seacaster-" 

"Please, just Fabian, Miss Abernant." He takes her hand very gently, strokes a thumb over the silk of her dinner gloves. 

"Adaine," she says, rosy color flooding her dark cheeks. "You can call me Adaine." 

"Adaine then," he gives her his most charming smile, kisses the back of her hand. Does she know how enchanting she is? It's entirely possible this is all a ploy, but he's inclined to believe (out of sheer romanticism) that she really is as genuine and sweet as she seems. "I've arranged for dinner at my club, and there's a party on one of my ships tonight, if that sounds amenable to you." 

"Yes," she says. She looks up at him through long lashes, brilliant flecks of gold in her blue eyes sparkling. He can see himself getting so lost in a girl like her, and forces himself to remember who her father is, what this date is really all about. "Will Figueroth Faeth be performing tonight?" 

The question startles him for just a second. "Yes. Have you heard her sing before?" 

"No," and she sighs sweetly, her face lit up in excitement. "My friends have, the other girls from Hudol - Hudol School for Young Ladies, that is - and they say she's _divine_. My father never allowed it before, he thinks jazz is, well, for _other_ sorts of people." 

"You're in for a treat, then tonight," he says, and he really does mean it. Fig's a star through and through, and it always puts him in a good light to bring people to their first show of hers. "Fig's a personal friend, I'll introduce you after. How did you like Hudol?" 

"Hudol?" She snorts, and then seems to remember herself. In a neutral tone that he could swear verges on bitter, "I received the kind of good education there that a lady of my standing ought to have there, and am very grateful for the opportunity." 

Horseshit. "What did you really think of it?" Fabian presses. "No need to sugarcoat it." 

She sighs, plays with the fabric of her skirt. "A dreadfully boring place, full of dreadfully boring girls taking dreadfully boring classes while they wait to be married to dreadfully boring men." 

He laughs, which startles her, so he quickly recovers himself. "I've heard much the same from some acquaintances. What would you consider to be an interesting class?" 

She spends the rest of the drive describing to him a lecture on early impressionism that she went to at the Metropolitan, talks eagerly about fine art and paintings. He learns that she herself does not paint, but she does dabble in the art scene. She went to Europe as part of her society debut and spent the summer in museums and galleries and piazzos full of art. It was her idea to go to the gallery opening the previous evening when Angwyn cornered him, and had actually been there although they hadn't met.

They sit at a cozy corner table at _The Compass Points_. He pulls out her chair for her and makes a sly remark about how he'd order a bottle of red for the table if it were legal, which gets him a soft laugh. When Fig comes on stage Adaine fully stops eating, watches her with lips barely parted, eyes hardly blinking. 

Tracker catches his eye towards the end of Fig's second set, and he excuses himself from their table. Adaine barely nods to him, still rapt under the spell of Fig's voice. 

"From Kristen," Tracker says, hands him a slip of paper. 

It's bad news, but nothing that can't be handled. Fabian's a little annoyed with himself for not picking up on Gukgak, but at least he knows now and the cards are back in his hand. He ducks down the back hall and into Fig's dressing room. She agrees to arrange things for him, and turns almost purple with embarrassment when the new maitre d' walks in on them. Interesting. Ayda Aguefort is the commissioner's long estranged daughter. She could be useful to have as a closer friend. He'll talk to Kristen later, see what can be done. 

He returns to Adaine, who has made new friends with the Rosenthals at the next table over. Clever girl. He sits back down and Mrs. Rosenthal beams at him, gives Fabian an approving look. They're good investors in the shipping side, and he vaguely wonders if Adaine knows that. Either way, it's good work on her part to be charming. Speaks of a useful mind.

They dance all night on the _Hallariel_. Riz has weaseled his way onboard (probably through Gorgug, the man's too trusting), which is a minor inconvenience. The Seacasters aren't mafia and certainly aren't powerful to have attracted the attention of the city's taskforce. He must be there for an in to somewhere else, which somewhat complicates Adaine’s presence.

Fabian keeps her close the whole night, swirls her around the dance floor. Hudol must require (dreadfully boring, presumably) dancing classes because she's light on her feet and easily matches him. She's flushed and breathing hard (and still beautiful) when she begs a break at nearly one in the morning, so he leads her to Tracker's section of the bar, gives Tracker a nod to keep an eye on her before Kristen steals him for a dance. He asks her to do something about Fig and Ayda because _really,_ the whole room can see Fig singing every love song in her repertoire into the corner where Ayda's standing. The wheels churn a bit in Kristen's head, but she doesn't dig too deeply and agrees to help. Fabian appreciates that about her.

He leaves her in the crowd when Riz gets too close to Adaine. Riz is so short it's no trouble to physically tower over him, remind him whose ship he's on. The man's turning out to be more annoying than previously anticipated, but Fabian simply sweeps Adaine back onto the dance floor. Ragh can look into Agent Will Gunner further starting tomorrow. 

Tonight is about feeling out Adaine Abernant. Not literally, of course, he's a perfect gentleman, but he listens patiently as she gushes on about art and music. He introduces her to (a flustered and ruffled looking) Fig (dear God, Kristen's efficient). Adaine squeezes onto his arm with a surprisingly strong grip and glows as the two talk about the New York jazz scene. Fabian notes that she doesn't drink all night, and he carefully steers their conversation around their families' lines of work. She's lovely to talk to and he can feel the eyes of the crowd on them as they dance.

Yet every time she says something charming, he can hear it in her father's voice. Angwyn hangs between them like a bad smell, poisoning the depth of their conversation. Fabian's hyper-conscious of every move he makes, every word he says. It's only rational that Adaine will report back to her father everything she learns from him. Having marriageable daughters is an awfully good strategy for espionage. 

Perhaps this is a two way street. He'll take her out again, and soon. It's a good business decision no matter how it spins out from the good publicity of having a beautiful well-respected girl on his arm alone. If she happens to let slip anything useful, well, then double his investment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reference for adaine's dress here [ x](https://vintagedancer.com/wp-content/uploads/1927-McCall-Quarterly-Fashions-evening-formal-flapper.jpg)


	6. adaine / epilogue

Adaine knows what her father is and what her family does. 

She also knows exactly what happens to her if she says a word out of line. 

There's a gallery opening uptown, beautiful landscapes and still lifes. She begs to be allowed to attend. In what she presumed was a moment of kindness, Angwyn agrees, and insists on going with her. He points Fabian Seacaster out from across the room to her. Seacaster is handsome, but there's an arrogance to how he carries himself, like a young prince about to learn a violent lesson from an old woman in the woods. 

"Seacaster will be taking you out soon. Cozy up to him - I've an eye on his dock holdings." It's the same game he played with Aelwyn and the Blaydes' connections to the mayor and city council. The game he's been trying to play with Adaine with the powerful young men he seeks to take under his thumb. He's careful, Angwyn, never pushes her into so many men's arms that her reputation will sour. In the past three years Adaine's been publicly spotted in close quarters with five men with connections that are of interest to the Abernant family. Of the five, none lasted more than four months and two have since died in tragic (untraceable) accidents.

Fabian is wealthier and more well-connected than any of the previous attempts. She also knows the least about him, which worries her, because if her father truly has his sights set on the Seacaster's shipping empire then he might be sticking around. The others at least she knew from society events, knew if they would be kind or cruel, if they would expect her to be charming or silent, if they were tolerable looking or middle-aged and wretched. The Seacasters aren't invited to socials (the wives are all worried that the widowed Mrs. Seacaster will turn their husbands' heads) and they stay out of the social pages for the most part. She watches him from across the room at the gallery opening, tries to gauge what sort of man he'll be.

Her mother repeats her father's words the next night, when she's to go out with Seacaster. "If you come home before two a.m. I'd consider you an utter failure." Arianwyn says as she watches a maid pin Adaine's hair up. "You're nearly too old to be married at this point. If Seacaster doesn't want you I simply don't know _what_ we'll do with you." Find some other rich man with connections to pawn her off onto, most likely.

Fabian picks her up perfectly on time, brings flowers for her and her mother. He looks good in his suit, and she can see how his eyes widen when he sees her come down the stairs. He's a perfect gentleman, helps her into the car and her seat at _The Compass Points_. Adaine is terribly rude and spends half the night rambling on about art and the other half ignoring him listening to Figueroth Faeth's silky voice. He doesn't seem to mind, just smiles at her and asks her for more details on pointilism. It's a curious conversation to be sure, as they verbally hold one another at arm's length, never dipping past the surface. 

He leaves her in the dining room just briefly, handling some business behind the scenes, and she swirls the water in her glass, still half-mesmerized by the end of Faeth's set. 

"Divine, isn't she?" An older woman at the next table over leans in conspiratorially. 

"Yes," Adaine says honestly. "I've never heard anything like her before." 

Her husband _harrumphs_. "If you're on Fabian's arm again, I'm sure you will. The boy can hardly keep himself away-" 

The woman smacks his arm, but Adaine's learned quite a lot already. Fabian and Figueroth, then. Is he backstage with her, now that her set is done? What a fool she must look to be out at their table alone while he gets his kisses in! Does the entire club know? Are they all looking and laughing behind covered mouths? The woman must see her panic, because she pats her hand. "You've nothing to fear, love. Fabian's a good boy, he wouldn't step out on a good lass like you. Like as not he's off bothering the cook for some kippers."

"Yes. I know. Of course not. Thank you Mrs.-?" Adaine tries to still her breathing, calm her thumping heart. This is not the place for one of her hysterical spells. 

"Oh just Cathilda, dear. We're old friends of Fabian's father." She looks over Adaine's shoulder. "Look, there he is now. Handsome boy, you lucky ducky." 

He doesn't look like he was backstage having an affair, still looking tidy, no conspicuous lipstick smudges on the collar of his pressed white shirt. She makes herself smile at him, allows herself to be whisked back into light conversation.

They go to the party aboard the _Hallariel,_ the top deck of the boat lit up golden, _The Compass Points_ ' band playing on a small stage. The room roars with life and Fabian sweeps her across the dance floor all night. It’s like electricity or like flying, and she can’t remember the last time she smiled so much, all thoughts of dalliances and scheming fathers forgotten. He grins at her as they dance, face opening wide and honest with pleasure at a partner who can match him. She has to beg a break when her shoes start to pinch too much, and he escorts her gently to the bar, promises to return to her soon, and is pulled away by a girl with brilliant red hair. 

The dread returns, hot and sick in the pit of her stomach, and in the few minutes he's gone she lets herself cry quickly. Tonight has been overwhelming. He's been so kind to her all night, he _listens_ to her, he's a divine dancer, he holds her waist and hands gently but firmly. Fabian is so far from every man from every other crime family that Angwyn has tried to match her with so far that she doesn't know quite what to do with herself. But then he sees him dipping the red haired girl, is reminded of his absence at dinner, Cathilda's husband's words about his relationship with Faeth. Everyone here must know him so well, must be watching and laughing as he leaves her _alone,_ his shiny little trophy of a one-up on her father.

A small man with black curls offers her a handkerchief. He looks out of place at this party in a way that Adaine can't quite put her finger on, but then Fabian returns to her - he always _returns_ \- and he spins her back onto the dance floor. They dance until dawn and he brings her home, kisses her cheek on her doorstep. She doesn't know how to feel about any of the night, just turns into bed with a roiling mind. He's kind, so kind, but can he be trusted, is he capable of the kind of loyalty she'll need to escape Angwyn's hold? 

That afternoon more flowers arrive with a polite invitation to the opera. Her father is pleased. Her mother is _thrilled_. They're in the social pages, a small but glowing note about the two being spotted out to dinner, what a handsome couple they make. The decision is made for her. Aelwyn stops by to sneer with her miserable husband and their miserable daughter, which can only mean she's lividly jealous.

The opera is the opera, nobody likes it but everyone goes. She wears a green velvet evening gown and he brings her yet even more flowers. They're in a small private box, just the two of them, high in the air above the rustling crowd. 

"I didn't think I would like you," Fabian says to her softly midway through an act, and her spine chills. "I thought you would be vapid and silly. You aren't, but I can see the puppet strings your father is holding. If you'd like for this to continue, we can, but know that I know why you're really here."

She can't think of anything to say, so she doesn't until the show is over. "I would. Like this to continue. I thought you would be cruel and boring. You aren't."

He regards her for a long time before offering his arm with a smile. "Then we will." 

Adaine and Fabian are spotted around town in a half dozen fabulous locations: gallery openings, box seats at _Hamlet_ and the ballet, dining at tiny restaurants with months-long waiting lists. Their names continue to splash across the social pages, editors gushing at the thought of the match, columns suggesting an impending engagement, a whirlwind romance. When cornered, they just smile and blush and avoid the questions thrown their way, which only feeds the wolves.

They're not spotted on the pleasure cruises Fabian throws on the _Hallariel_ for New York's glitteriest underbelly or at the boozy rooftop parties her family's friends throw. Nobody sees how in private he holds her at arm's length, barely engages with her past a surface level. Angwyn presses her for information on the Seacasters' business workings, but there's none to be had, and even if there were Adaine doesn't think she'd tell him. 

It's infuriating to be in close quarters with someone you'd like to trust but doesn't trust you. Fabian looks at Adaine and sees a loaded gun. Adaine looks at Fabian and sees a key. 

A month later they're in Fabian's penthouse. It's lushly decorated in wood and velvet, and just illuminated in yellow light from the sconces. She stands in the center of his living room, trying not to shake, fisting her hands into her sleeves and holding her bag close to her. He sits in an armchair staring at her, a crystal whiskey glass in shards on the ground next to him. 

"Why the hell would I do that?" He asks, eyes narrowing as the initial shock of her marriage proposal fades. 

"I want you to get me out of there," she pleads. Her voice breaks and she hates it, hates the way she can feel bile rise in her throat. "Fabian-"

"Does Angwyn really think so little of me?" He's not talking to her anymore, address the couch beside her. "Pushing her on me, that made sense, but this? This is the worst plot I've ever-"

Adaine produces a heavy stack of papers from her back and drops them onto the coffee tables, cutting him off with a dull _thud._ "I copied these from his private office. There's ledgers, payrolls, and letters between him, the mayor, the governor, and half the city council." Weeks of work done in the dead of night. A gamble that could have killed her, may kill her still. He stares at her some more and she can almost hear the gears whirring. "There's enough in here to-well, maybe not take him down, but at least enough to hurt him."

He stares at her and then at the pile of papers and then back up at her again. "I'll need to verify these are real." 

She nods too much, feels a hot rush of shame as a few tears start to slip. "Take all the time you need. Preferably not too long." 

Fabian walks to her, pulls her to his warm chest. She tries not to cry on his shirt too much. "Why?" His mouth is directly beside her ear. It's so intimate she nearly breaks. 

She pulls away to look him in the eyes. "You can get me out of there. Please. Marry me and get me out of there and I'll help you burn everything he loves to the ground." His smile is grim, but he tucks a stray hair behind her ear and presses a kiss to her forehead.

Fabian takes a few days to verify the information is good, then pulls off an elaborate proposal with a ring the size of her thumb in Rockefeller Center, in front of half of New York. The papers eat it up, and so does her father, as Adaine spins the story to him of how she seduced Fabian Seacaster and has him under her thumb. Fabian gives her information to feed to her father and solidify her story, sacrifices a few shipments and men here and there. Angwyn's greedy eyes glow at the thought of expanding his reach in the city, and agrees to the match readily, offers to pay for the wedding.

It's the social event of the decade. Every big wedding claims to be the event of the decade in New York, but the gossips swear this might be the one to top them all. It's just not everyday that the daughter of a millionaire businessman and a shipping tycoon get married after a whirlwind month-long romance. Everyone gushes over how beautiful the couple is, how well matched they seem.

There are rumors, of course, that it's a political match or that she's pregnant. They engage in a disgusting amount of public affection, and Adaine lets her mother tell the servants to corset her down to nothing. Someone from _The Compass Points_ gives a tell-all on Fabian and Fig's alleged relationship, so Adaine and Fig go to some very public lunches to demonstrate their friendship to the press. At one of them, Fig tells Adaine about how her stepfather just got out of prison and immediately went missing, how _sad._ Nothing thrown at them can stick, and the wedding descends upon the city in a storm of positive press.

Adaine wears three different couture dresses in different shades of cream. She has eighteen bridesmaids and four flower girls. There's five hundred guests in the church for the ceremony and two thousand in Central Park for the reception, where Fig sings as a personal favor. She swears before God and half the Yankees to have and to hold, and Fabian sweeps her into a kiss that borders on indecent before carrying her down the aisle to their waiting car.

Adaine Abernant was helpless in Angwyn's clutches. Adaine Seacaster spins the rope that hangs her father. She grew up in a den of mafiosos. She knows their games and she can play them just as well as they can. How foolish of them to underestimate her. 

Fabian doesn't make the same mistake. They spend their wedding night sitting on the enormous bed in their suite going over all the details of the Seacaster's holdings as he reads her into the entire operation. He'll probably be a good husband, but this marriage is a business partnership first and foremost. Her feelings for him are difficult and murky, but she knows he feels the same way about her. She knows they could fall in love someday, knows they'll have children either way. God, their children will be beautiful and smart and above all, _dangerous_.

The dark haired man (who she'd long forgotten at this point) who lent her a hanky on the _Hallariel_ only a few weeks ago is an undercover rat. He nearly gets Gorgug killed during a raid, and Adaine spends long hours in a hospital waiting room holding Zelda's hand and bouncing his son in her arms. Fabian's furious and wants to waste him on the spot, but Adaine talks him down and sets up a meet instead. Gorgug will survive this, and besides, Riz is in the perfect position to be manipulated by them right now. She meets Riz in an automat downtown and feeds him information carefully, dropping names and hints under the guise of girlish social graces. His eyes twitch as he tries to pretend to not be picking up anything from her. Will Gunner doesn't care about bringing down _every_ family in New York, but he does care about the Abernants. Angwyn called in the hit that killed his father, so it's personal for him. Conveniently, it's personal for her as well. Funny how people's goals can align and everyone can get what they want. It's easy to get him to move on from the Seacasters and on to her former family. 

The night her father dies is cold and drizzly and her fur collar gets matted and damp. There’s a firefight in many dark alleys around the warehouses where Angwyn holds his seedy court. She watches from her car as Agent Gunner puts a bullet in her father’s skull. It’s sick to relish in the splatter of red, but she allows herself to enjoy it for a brief moment, to watch the life sputter out of a man who sold her sister for his own power. Who tried to sell her too. She drags on her cigarette and has her driver take her home to Fabian.

The Abernant empire crumples and Fabian sweeps in to pick up the smuggling and the legitimate parts of the business, lets the political manipulation and murder fall apart. Adaine works her connections, clears his path with bribes and threats to allow her new family's empire to sidle into the wreckage. Fabian buys a new wing in the Metropolitan Museum for her as a first anniversary present. They buy her parent's old house and burn it to the ground, watching from the deck of the _Hallariel_ as it goes up in ash and smoke. The champagne flows freely and Fig sings all night and into dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've made it this far, thank you for reading <3  
> if you want some more headcanons/notes on this fic that never made it in, you can check out the tumblr post of them i made [here](https://elsie-writes.tumblr.com/post/621771142087278592/leftoversextra-hcsnippets-that-got-cut-from-the)

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://elsie-writes.tumblr.com)


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